


Well-Suited

by Medeafic



Series: Supernova [8]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: D/s, Light Bondage, M/M, Sado-Masochism, brief mention of asphyxiation play, mentions of knife play/cutting/blood and bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/pseuds/Medeafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris goes to the Met Gala.  Zach makes a proposition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well-Suited

Chris wakes several times during the night, so by 5 am he doesn’t bother trying to sleep again. Just as well, because he gets a call from his manager in LA – pissed off, predictably – demanding Chris get his ass back to the Bowery, where he’s couriered some new scripts, contracts to sign, and his Ralph Lauren for the Met Gala that night.

“Why are you up so late anyway?” Chris grumbles quietly into the phone. Zach is soundly asleep still, and clinging like a limpet.

“Because I have _your career_ to worry about.” The phone line goes dead. Chris rolls his eyes. It’s not like he’s running around high on drugs and assaulting people with umbrellas. The way his handlers – goddamn it, his _people_ talk to him, you’d think he was Hollywood’s most recalcitrant bad boy.

Chris decides he might as well get the day over with, and tries to slide out from Zach’s web of arms and legs.

“Time is it?” Zach mumbles.

“Early. Go back to sleep. I have to go, but I’ll be back later. I have lunch with someone and then –”

“No, I’ll come to your hotel.” Zach sounds more awake now. “Your people are getting annoyed, and that makes you stressed. So give them a freebie; we’ll stay there tonight. And come back to bed. You have time.”

Chris looks at Zach, blinking his eyes slowly as he wakes up, and feels his heart lurch suddenly, something that he’s pretty sure should only happen in stupid romantic comedies. But then he sees the bandages and has a flash of last night, watching Zach’s blood, welling up from inside to drip down his skin– “Nah,” he says awkwardly. “I gotta go.”

“Christopher, get back in this bed right now. Don’t make me drag you.”

“Jesus Christ.” It feels like a mental tug of war, after last night. But he gets back in, carefully, trying to avoid the gauze. Zach wraps himself around Chris and kisses his temple.

“I know. It’s weird, right?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“I’m okay, you know.”

“I cut you.”

“You sure did.”

“I liked it.”

“Seemed to be the case, yeah.”

“I don’t think I want to do that again.”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that.” Zach is stroking his fingers idly down Chris’s chest. His breath is warm on Chris’s shoulder, and Chris feels his muscles start to relax a little under Zach’s ministrations. “And as it happens, that suits me just fine too.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Chris wonders whether anything has changed between them. “There was a lot of blood.”

“Not so much.”

“Next time, will you let me fuck you?”

“Next time?” Zach turns Chris’s face towards him so they can kiss, gently twists at his nipples. “You actually think there’s going to be a next time?” He leans up over Chris, wincing a little, and kisses him harder.

“Well, when _will_ you let me fuck you?” Chris asks into his mouth, and Zach makes an amused noise. “Come on, Zach.”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“But yesterday – you said. You promised. If I was good with my fingers. And I was.”

“I promised nothing. I said maybe. And who said you were any good?”

“You – but – that’s –”

“I know,” Zach says mockingly. “It’s not fair. I’m so mean to you.” He pushes Chris down on the bed and starts biting at his chest gently. “I’m just _so_ mean. Poor Christopher.”

Chris squirms, half wants to push Zach’s hands away, but they’re making little scratches down his sides and it feels good. “But I _want_ to.” As though that will make a difference. But – after last night, maybe it _will_ make a difference.

“I know. I know. Maybe one day. But if you’re not good right now, if you don’t do as I say, you won’t get to come at all. And then no one will be happy.” Zach almost sounds as though he’s sad about it, and Chris feels his annoyance fading.

“But…” He has no follow-up, not with Zach’s fingers pinching at him.

“You want to come for me, don’t you?” Zach sucks Chris’s nipple gently between his teeth.

“ _Christ._ Yes.” Chris arches up. “But I’d also like it _noted_ that teasing me by telling me I can – _nghh_ …it’s un-fucking-fair.”

“Noted.” Zach grins around his nipple, biting down harder. “You can send me a memo later to confirm. But to make it up to you, I’ll let you choose. What would you like me to do right now? How do you want to come?”

“Hard.”

“That’s easy enough. You want my dick inside you, Christopher?”

“Yes.” It’s out before he even thinks about it. “And – that hard as well.”

“Mm. I don’t know if that’s going to happen. I’ll try, though.” Chris looks at him, a little confused. “It hurts if I stretch too much, and I don’t want to open the cuts again. But like I said, I’ll try. I’ll do my best.”

Chris, remembering Zach’s _no apologies_ from the night before, refrains from saying sorry. But he’s still worried, especially when he thinks about that extra cut, that maybe he went too far. And Zach, fucking him, hisses or catches his breath when he moves too vigorously. It doesn’t help.

But in the cab to the hotel, at least he has happy memories of Zach biting into him, and wringing an orgasm out of him that was painful in its intensity, even if the sex itself wasn’t as hard as he would have liked. He needed that, Chris thinks. And so did Zach. They both needed reassurance.

At the Bowery, Chris throws his overnight bag into the closet of his room, signs things, laughs at the blue tuxedo hanging on the back of the door – he can’t wait for Zach’s reaction – and reads over some notes from the director of _Inishmore_. He’s incredibly excited about it, and he’s not even completely sure why. But he loves this initial part of the process, thinking about the character, wondering about motivations, finding things he can bring to the part. _Just a movie star, my ass_.

He pulls out his journal and writes for a while, about his character, and then about blood and knives and power, and on rereading thanks his lucky stars that Zach will never see this. It would just make Zach self-conscious and he might get the wrong idea.

Because Chris is starting to get it more now. Zach is nothing like Padraic – they are worlds apart, but that power, the ability to make someone fearful and compliant, and the drive to be that way in the first place – Chris is beginning to understand the appeal. There is a terrible beauty there that he never saw before. Never saw before Zach.

At the end of the page he starts to add a few words. _If I can do this really well, maybe I can prove_

But he scribbles violently through it before finishing the sentence.

He’s tired enough that he’s not sure he’ll be able to function properly at his lunch meeting – and there’s a long, wounded, vaguely threatening email from his manager about why this lunch needs to go well after yesterday’s fiasco – so Chris orders some strong coffee from room service. He's also tired enough to spill his third cup all over his shirt, and has to change. When he’s washing his hands in the bathroom, he notices that some of his nails look _filthy_ – there’s something dark and grimy embedded under them – and he realizes that it’s Zach’s blood. Even though he cleaned thoroughly afterwards, and showered this morning, it’s still there.

“Out, damned spot,” he mutters, and looks at himself in the mirror. “Will these hands ne’er be clean?” He thinks about his cock, coated in red, sliding into Zach’s mouth. The taste of Zach’s blood on his tongue. He twitches a smile at his own reflection and then turns abruptly to throw up all the coffee in his stomach into the toilet, retching up bile when there’s nothing left.

He washes his face and hands three times afterwards, gargles mouthwash and scrubs his nails almost raw, but he’s shaking and he can see in the mirror that he’s pallid and shiny with perspiration. And when he wipes over his mouth and nose, trying to rub away the sweat, he could swear his fingers still stink of iron and rust. He stares at his own face, unfamiliar now, in the mirror. _Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand_.

He shakes his head, tries to shake away the foggy feeling. “Look not so pale, Christopher,” he tells himself sternly, and goes back to have that third cup of coffee. He makes sure to drink it slowly.

He’s tremendously glad that Zach isn’t here to see him like this.

  
***

  
By the time Zach shows up in the afternoon, Chris has pulled himself together, had a more successful lunch meeting, and been photographed walking down the street as though it was some kind of wildly exciting occurrence.

Zach pushes in past him through the doorway as though he owns the room, carrying two bags.

“How much stuff did you _bring_?” Chris asks, watching as he dumps the bags on the floor next to the bed.

Zach nudges one with a foot. “This one is mostly books. I need something to do while you’re swanning around the Metropolitan tonight. Something to keep my mind occupied.”

“You could come,” Chris offers hopefully.

“Nah.”

“I mean, you could come with me, be my plus one. I still don’t get why they invited me and not you. Of the two of us, you are much more suited to this.”

“Oh, they invited me. But I turned it down a while ago. Besides, I’m not in the mood.”

Chris stares. That’s not like Zach at _all_. He loves that kind of thing. Dressing up, seeing people. Chris knows that a lot of his friends will be there. “Not in the mood?”

“That’s what I said.” Zach shoves his hands into his pockets and turns to look out the window.

“How come you turned them down?”

“I figured we should avoid giving the paps any more ammunition than they already have.”

“Because of my _handlers_?”

“You’re not very good at being snarky, Pine, did I ever tell you that? And yeah. Because of them.” Chris wants to protest, but he can’t think of a way to articulate it without starting a fight. So he lets it go.

Zach flops onto the bed. “We have time before you need to get ready, right? We could –”

Chris starts laughing. “Don’t you ever think about anything else?”

Zach raises his eyebrows and looks vaguely insulted. “ _Actually_ , I was going to suggest we could look at your new play again. I brought my copy of _Inishmore_. We could talk more about it. If you want.” Chris isn’t sure if he _does_ want. Not right now.

He watches Zach burrow into one of the bags, tossing a pile of books onto the bed, and finds himself transported back to his undergraduate days. Seneca, in translation. An anthology of English literature. A couple of slim volumes of poetry. He picks up one of them.

“Sylvia Plath? You’re going emo on me now?”

“Your Berkeley professors would have you taken out and shot for that.”

“True. Why are you interested in this all of a sudden?” Chris asks, waving at the books.

“Transformation and stripping away layers of the self, right?”

Chris shakes his head a little, wondering what else he might have said that Zach has taken so closely to heart.

Zach snatches the book from him and flicks through it. “There’s some incredible stuff in here. ‘The blood jet is poetry, there is no stopping it.’ Sounds like us, right? When you’re under. Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“You don’t look very well. Do you want to sit down? What is it?”

“Let’s just…lay off the blood stuff for a while.”

“Oh. Alright.” Zach raises his eyebrows a little. “If that’s what you’d prefer.” But he looks like he knows exactly what Chris is going through, and Chris wonders – if _this_ is the way Zach feels after each time, why does he keep _doing_ it? “You were all about the blood last night. Are you–”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Chris says desperately. “I just don’t want to think about blood right now.” His stomach is roiling again, but he’s determined to keep his lunch down. “Anyway. I’m glad you’re enjoying Plath. She liked Jung, too. So you’ll probably get along.”

“I, uh, decided to branch out from Jung, actually.” Zach sounds almost sheepish. He picks up another book. “After the other day, I started thinking…maybe I should, I don’t know. I started looking around, found this other guy. Welwood. He incorporates some Eastern philosophy into his psychotherapy. I like it so far.” Zach gives a tentative smile, and Chris can tell he’s feeling vulnerable.

“Cool,” he says. “Like your Aum and stuff?”

“Yeah. Like my Aum and stuff.” Zach grins at him, relaxes.

“Tell me why you wear it,” Chris asks, bouncing onto the bed next to him. “I mean, I figure it’s about balance or something, right?”

“Sort of.” Chris keeps smiling at him, willing him to talk. This is usually where Zach starts clamming up or giving non-answers. But this time, Zach rolls on to his side to look at him. “Well. The Aum is sacred in many Eastern religions and it has a lot of meanings within it. But to me personally – it reminds me of the cycle.”

“What cycle?”

“Creation, preservation, destruction. That cycle.”

“Oh.” Chris rubs his nose. “I don’t –”

“Get it,” Zach finishes for him, with a sigh. “I need the reminder, Christopher. That all three things are equally important. And that they need to follow on from each other, need to cycle around. Because I’m naturally more inclined to one of them.”

He doesn’t say which one, but Chris doesn’t have to ask. “Where do you pick these things up? You have all these, I don’t know, traditions or rules or something, for yourself. Where do they come from?”

“I was looking for a lot of answers when I was younger. I guess I still am. Oh. My. God. _What_ is _that_?” Chris follows Zach’s finger, pointing straight at his tux on the back of the door.

“Oh, baby. You have _no_ idea. It’s gonna be _amazing_.”

Zach starts laughing. “It’s _awful_.”

“I know, right?”

“Charming in its awfulness.”

“Wait till you see it _on_ me. I look like an escapee from the eighties. I wanted to go with silver cowboy boots, but my publicist nixed the idea. Boring black shoes instead.”

“I _love_ it.”

“Yeah, I knew you would.”

“Can I fuck you in that when you get back?”

“Sure. Just don’t jizz all over it. It’s on loan.”

They talk for a long time, about nothing and everything, and longer than Chris realizes, until the light is fading. “I guess I’d better get dressed,” he says eventually. “And no jumping me. Not till I get back.”

“Are you feeling better?”

Chris actually has to think about it. “Yeah,” he says at last. “I am. I’m still weirded out that I got so…” He doesn’t want to say it. Because if he says it, Zach might take it personally, and the last thing in the world he wants to do is make Zach feel bad about himself, or like he should be ashamed.

“Into it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sadistic?”

Chris doesn’t say anything.

“Cruel? Monstrous? Aberrant?”

“Stop. Stop it. That’s not –”

“But it’s alright, really. It’s fine.” It doesn’t _sound_ fine. “I know how it feels. I feel it – almost every day.”

“You walk around thinking that you’re a deviant?”

“I _am_ a deviant, Christopher, according to the textbooks. But that’s okay. I wouldn’t want to be one of the crowd.” Zach rolls onto him, pinning him down, his face flashing with pain at the movement. But he folds his arms firmly across Chris’s chest so that he has to fight a little for his breath. “But see, you’re different. You’re not like me.”

“I don’t know.” He _wants_ to know, and it feels like a betrayal – he wants to hear Zach reassure him and tell him he’s not like that, not like Zach, not really, it was just a one-off thing, an anomaly, an uncharacteristic deviation from the norm. Zach is watching him with a small, sad smile on his lips, and Chris feels a stab of guilt.

“You’re not like me,” Zach says again. “Take it from someone who knows.”

“But I enjoyed it.”

“Sure. You like cookie things too, right? Just not every day. If you had them every day, you’d hate them. But _I_ would eat them all day, every day if I could.”

“Where cookies equal sadism?” But Chris has to smile. “There was that one time when you got sick of cookie things. You didn’t eat any for a week.”

“And there was that one time I let you cut me.”

Chris hates himself a little for feeling so relieved. He wants to say thank you, but it seems so tactless. “I threw up this morning,” he says instead.

“First time I did something like that I threw up right after the scene.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even make it to the bathroom. Not great for my image.”

Chris laughs, then, or tries to. Zach is heavy on top of him. “Are _you_ feeling alright? Mentally?”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about you. And payback.”

“So you’re planning your grand revenge, huh?”

“Naturally.”

“You could choke me. If you want.”

“We’ve been over this before.”

“I know. It’s just…you like it. I want to try it.”

“I like the _thought_ of it. And you need to stop asking me about it. It’s not going to happen. Too dangerous.”

“But –”

“Please stop asking. I nearly killed someone once.”

“Oh.” Chris feels _awful_ now, although Zach’s tone was the epitome of casual. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” Zach moves off him so that they’re lying side by side, and puts an arm around him, noses into his hair.

“I didn’t tell you.”

 _What the fuck else haven’t you told me?_

“Are you feeling better now?” Zach asks again.

“Yeah.”

“Mentally too?”

Chris thinks it over. “Yes. I feel – okay.” He does, mostly.

“You’d better get ready. I want to watch you get dressed.”

“You’re such a voyeur.” But Chris smiles. It might embarrass him sometimes, but he’s used to it – Zach watching him dress and undress, staring at him like he’s a fat, oblivious zebra in the African grasslands.

“And you’re so compliant. Go.”

Chris goes. Zach watches. It’s a comfortable silence, until Chris starts putting on his boring black shoes.

“No.” Zach crosses the room to the closet.

“What?”

“Wear these ones.” Zach hands him a different pair of shoes.

“But those are…” Those are brown shoes, which means brown shoes with a blue tux, and Chris is pretty sure that’s a guaranteed _no_ in fashion.

“You wanted to take a risk, right?”

“But –” But the ludicrous navy tux is a huge step for him, fashion-wise. He’s still not convinced he’ll be able to pull it off, anyway, despite the way his publicist cooed about how amazing his eyes would look. He’s half-prepared to look stupid already, although he figured most people would. Being over-the-top is the _point_ of the Met Gala. But he doesn’t want to be the _most_ ridiculous. On the other hand, Katy Perry is attending.

“You know, in Italy right now, it’s big. Blue suits, brown shoes.”

“But Ralph Lauren’s going to _be_ there. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he doesn’t know what they’re doing in Italy?”

Zach gives him an incredulous look. “I can assure you, Ralph Lauren knows what they’re doing in Italy. Besides, if you can’t wear silver cowboy boots, you might as well try for the next best thing. It’ll piss off your publicist, right?”

“Sold,” Chris says immediately, and puts them on. When he sees them in the mirror, he has another moment of doubt. “I don’t know, man. Are you _sure_?”

“Christopher, I am absolutely sure. Besides, even if everyone else hates it, _I’ll_ love it.”

Chris glances at him, confused. “Are you saying you _want_ me to wear them?” That’s not like Zach. And he remembers a time, not long ago, same hotel, different room, when Zach got annoyed at him for just giving in. But Zach doesn’t look annoyed. He looks as though he’s waiting for something. And he’s not saying anything. “Are you fucking with me?” No response, except for a raised eyebrow. “Well – if you’re _sure_ ,” Chris says, uncertain. “I don’t want Ralph Lauren shunning me in front of the fashion elite.” Zach still says nothing. “Okay. Brown shoes it is.”

“You’d better go,” Zach tells him softly. “Your car will be waiting.”

In the car, Chris suddenly places Zach’s expression. Satisfaction.

  
***

  
Zach, as always, was right. Some people laughed at him behind their hands when he arrived, but Zoë threw her arms around him with a squeal when she saw him. “Gorgeous!”

“Shoes?”

“ _Daring_.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not, and Zoë was gone in a whirl before he could clarify. But then he ran into Ralph Lauren, and was _photographed_ with him, and he’s pretty sure he said something like “I, I, I, uh –” before the designer started loudly praising him for his sartorial shoe choice.

“Like the Venetians; it’s so _now_! My God, if only everyone would take a lesson from the Italians with classic suits.”

 _Well, okay_ , Chris thought. Everyone around started agreeing, and by the end of the night, the laughers were congratulating him. He owes Zach one, and that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he gets back.

“Yeah, you do,” Zach agrees, but he’s not talking about the same thing. Chris sees the gleam in Zach’s eyes, and wonders how fucked he is: very, or royally. Suddenly the fourth cut from last night and making Zach beg seem like Really Dumb Ideas.

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.” Zach throws aside his book and stands up from the bed, where he’s been lounging. “My turn to play.”

“Well, just – are you going to give me some idea of –” Chris finds he’s backing away, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture, and he’s half smiling, but half _really scared_.

“Yes. I am. _Some_ idea.”

“Oh.” That’s not how it usually goes, so Chris feels a _little_ better. Zach is most scary when Chris has no idea what his plans are.

“It’s nice of me, right? Because last night – you didn’t give me much idea.”

“Well –”

“Come here.”

It’s torturous to feel dragged across the room by the sheer force of Zach’s will, when Chris’s head is screaming _No, you fool, stay over by the door!_ Zach is smiling, just a little, and he looks…Chris doesn’t even want to think about it. He feels more like a zaftig zebra than ever.

“You know, you should really go easy on me, I was totally new to everything so I –”

“Be. Quiet.”

Zach sounds dangerous. Chris’s feet, in those goddamn brown shoes, are dragging, but still moving forward, until he’s looking straight at Zach’s mouth, inches away, because Chris is too worried about what he might see in his eyes.

“I’ve found myself feeling uncomfortable today,” Zach’s mouth says. “Do you know why?”

Chris shakes his head. Zach told him to be quiet, so he doesn’t say anything, but from the faint twist of regretful lips, Zach seems like he was hoping Chris would forget.

“Hm,” Zach says, and pulls the leather strip off from around his wrist. “Turn around.” He ties Chris’s hands behind his back, and, yeah, that’s a worry. Zach doesn’t tie him very often, not unless he’s going to be really physically hard on him, because it’s mostly for Chris’s protection – to stop him reflexively covering himself. _No broken fingers_ , Zach said once. _Hard limit._ Zach turns him by the shoulders again to look over his face, but Chris still can’t meet his eyes.

“I think perhaps we should have a recap. A report card on how you did. Would you like that?” He wraps his fingers around the back of Chris’s neck, as though he’s going to pull him in for a kiss.

“I’m sorry, okay, I shouldn’t have – _ow!_ ” Zach’s fingers have dug in sharply, just for a moment.

“I _said_ , be quiet.” Zach turns him by the neck and pushes him gently up against the wall, face first, pressing his body into the cool plaster. Chris leans his forehead against the wall. “I’ve been thinking, all day, about what I wanted to do. But first I had to make sure you were okay. And you’re okay, aren’t you?” Chris nods clumsily, his nose scuffing against the wall. “Well, that’s good. I hate it when my toys break. Would you like to know what I’ve been thinking about?” Chris wants to shake his head, because _no, not really_ , and hesitates a little too long. Zach’s fingers dig into his neck again and he yelps. “I _asked_ if you wanted to know what I have been thinking about _all day_.”

Chris nods frantically; Zach is in one of those moods, and he doesn’t want to give him any excuses.

Zach puts his mouth close to Chris’s ear and speaks softly, his breath warm. “I thought about making you scream, making you hurt, making you cry – I thought about bringing along a gag here, so I could do whatever I wanted and no one would interrupt. And I thought about making you afraid, Christopher, making your heart race and watching you trying to scramble away from me across the floor.”

Chris closes his eyes. His forehead is prickling uncomfortably. Zach’s lips curl against his ear.

“But then I realized that wouldn’t be enough. Not after last night.”

Chris goes cold all over and tries to remember that this is Zach, and Zach loves him and Zach tries to hold a balance and Zach, okay, Chris has no idea how far he might go, but ultimately not too far, never too far. _You willing to bet your life on that?_ he asks himself.

Chris feels the fingers slide across his neck for a moment, press in to take his pulse. “You’re afraid,” Zach murmurs, and then his hand is back around Chris’s neck. “Tell me. How do you think you did last night? You can talk now, if you like. If you _can_.”

Chris tries to swallow, but his mouth feels like it’s filled with dry, hot sand. “Not great?”

“Well, look,” Zach says graciously. “You _were_ new to things, it’s true. And it was partly my fault. I didn’t give you a lot of time to plan. But still – you made some mistakes, didn’t you?” Chris nods again. If this goes on my longer his nose will rub a trail through the paint. “Tell me.”

“I cut – more. More than you said.”

“Yeah. You did.”

“I was just doing what _you_ do.” It sounds weak to his own ears. “Pushing limits. You do that all the time!”

“And what’s the difference?”

 _I’m not a big crybaby about pain?_ “I don’t know. You’re _better_ at it?”

“Really? You’re going with sullen and cranky right now? Interesting choice.” The fingers tighten, slowly, and Chris squirms.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, not so much. I just wanted to…push a little. You push me. What _is_ the difference?”

Zach keeps hold of his neck and pulls at Chris’s shirt with his other hand, yanking it out of his pants to slide a hand up his back. Chris can feel he has something cold and hard in his palm, pressing into his spine. “You know what that is?

“Knife,” he manages to say.

“Clever boy. Do you know what I’m going to do with it?”

Chris can imagine – terrible things. Beautiful but terrible. But no – he doesn’t _actually_ know. “No, Zach. I don’t know. I never know.”

“No, you don’t know. But you’re standing there, letting me threaten you. Because?”

“Because I trust you,” he whispers. “Because I – oh.”

 _Don’t you trust me?_ he’d asked Zach in the morning.

 _Absolutely not, no._

Chris clenches his hands into angry fists, and the leather bites into his flexing wrists. “But you said – just before I cut you – when I asked then, you said you trusted me.” It doesn’t seem fair. “You lied.”

“No. I wasn’t lying.” Chris feels the hand finally leave his neck, slide down around his waist to unbutton his pants. The hand with the knife is still pushing him into the wall, keeping him steady. Keeping him upright, because Chris is sure his legs would give way otherwise. “I trusted you then, because you knew my limit. Do you understand now?”

 _Fuck_. “Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“You earned my trust by staying in my limits. For a long time.” For such a long time that Chris was begging for more months before Zach gave it to him. “I forgot. I forgot about that.” He closes his eyes, feeling sick, and turns his head so that his cheek, hot with regret, rests against the cool wall.

Zach pulls at his pants and his briefs, shoving them down enough to grab at his ass. “Move your hands up.” Chris does his best, but it’s uncomfortable to pull them into the small of his back. When he feels fingers curl around his face, he jerks violently against the wall, and Zach laughs.

“Open your mouth. I want you to get my fingers wet. And I suggest you do a good job, for your own sake.”

If his mouth weren’t so goddamn dry, it would probably work better, but Chris does his best. Zach licks up the back of his ear and he nearly bites down in surprise. That would make things about ten times worse.

“Settle down. I’m just going to fuck you.” Zach saying _I’m just going to_ is pointless as far as Chris is concerned, because it’s never _just_ something. And besides, he still has a hard metal object pushing into his back under Zach’s palm. So he’s still tense when Zach starts pushing wet fingers in to him. “Relax.” But every little noise of pain he makes results in Zach breathing a little faster, pushing a little harder, until he’s knuckle-deep and Chris is screwing up his face.

“Please don’t cut me.” He just can’t do blood again, not tonight, not his own and not Zach’s.

“Relax,” Zach says again. “Just like you told me last night – this is gonna be _awesome_. Hey, open your eyes.” He pulls his hand, and the knife, away from Chris’s back and leans it up against the wall, in front of his face, with the knife under splayed fingers. At least it’s still closed, Chris thinks. And then Zach’s other hand is pulling out of his ass; it returns a minute later to spread lube everywhere. “See? I’m taking care of you. Everything will be fine.”

Chris barely hears him, though – there’s a knife a few inches away from his nose and he realizes that Zach must have cleaned it, because _he_ sure as hell didn’t, and last night it was sticky with blood. Now it gleams like a light source.

“Spread your legs, Christopher,” Zach says, and it’s hard because his clothes are still tight around his thighs, but he tries, and the next thing he knows he’s impaled on Zach’s cock. “And keep your eyes _open_. I’m not going to ask you again.”

It’s quiet for a while, except for their breathing, and Zach is moving slowly, stops deep inside him with a sigh of pleasure. He speaks softly into Chris’s neck.

“Not so fond of the knife today, are you? That’s good to know. Are you still afraid, Christopher?”

“Yeah.”

“Scared of me, or the knife?”

“Both.”

“Do you want to come?”

Chris shudders. He has no idea what Zach wants to hear right now. The knife in his face, even closed, is telling him to be careful, but everything else Zach is doing is gentle. Calm. “Yeah. I want to come.”

“I’m not going to let you. Comments?”

“Whatever you want, Zach.” He tries not to sound relieved. If that’s all, if that’s the only thing Zach is planning, that’s fine. He can handle sexual frustration. Just not the knife.

“Whatever I want,” Zach says, and starts fucking him again, harder, with purpose. “This morning you wanted it hard. So did I.”

“Wait,” Chris manages to say. “Don’t – you said it hurt, this morning, I don’t want you to hurt yourself so –”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shoves in, rough.

“ _Wait_ , please, not if it hurts you to –”

“Christopher,” Zach growls into his collar. “I have been _playing_ with you all day.” His fingernails scrape against the wall, curling around the knife. “You think a few cuts really hurt me so much?”

“But then why –”

“Payback.”

The words sinks into his mind, drifting before it makes sense, because Zach is still fucking him, remorseless. _Payback._

“That’s not fair, Zach, you don’t play fair.” He has to gasp it out.

“You’re just figuring that out?” Zach snarls, with a particularly vicious thrust, and Chris can’t decide how to feel. So he just feels. Takes it, flinching, his own cock thick but unattended, but keeps his eyes on the knife because God knows what Zach might do if he shuts them again.

It doesn’t take long before Zach comes, biting into the shoulder of his damn tux, and Chris offers up a silent _Sorry_ to Ralph Lauren. Zach holds him there against the wall, panting, and caresses his face with the knife handle when he softens enough to slip out.

“You stay right there, Christopher,” he says, and Chris sags against the wall, closing his eyes finally. He hears Zach leave the room, go to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Five minutes, ten. He still doesn’t know what he should be feeling. Betrayal is an option. But then there’s admiration, because if Zach really has been fucking with him all day…well. Great acting. So he stays as still as he can, feeling something ooze out of his ass and hopes, _prays_ , that nothing is getting on the damn suit. And that Zach has not left it with permanent teeth imprints.

When Zach comes back, he roughly pulls up Chris’s underwear and re-buttons, re-zips his pants. Squeezes at his fingertips to check the circulation. Pulls him to the middle of the room.

“Get on your knees.”

Ralph Lauren would definitely not approve of this either, Chris is pretty sure, but he kneels obediently, trying to keep his balance with his hands still bound, and trying not to cause too much wear on the material. Zach stands in front of him, but Chris can’t look up. He’s worried again.

“You’re worried again,” Zach says. _Goddamn it_. Zach squats down in front of him, conspiratorially. “I’m not going to cut you, you know. Or even hurt you. Not right now, anyway.” And then he stands back up, but really, it hasn’t helped. “So like I said, I’ve been thinking about what I want to do. Because I have to say, Christopher – even though the power exchange is just play –” Chris glares at his knees. “Yes. Even though it’s just pretend. It still got a bit too real for my liking last night.”

Through the worry and dormant fear and faint disgust at his own behavior the previous night, Chris feels a small, gratifying sense of victory. But he doesn’t let it show on his face. He can act, too.

“And maybe it got too real for you, too,” Zach continues. “So I realized that what I want _isn’t_ to have you in agony for a couple of hours, or to have control over you for a night. Because I can have that any time. Right?”

Chris clears his throat. “Right.”

“What I want is to feel _balanced_ again. And I think that would take longer than a couple of hours.”

Chris feels his breath pick up speed, but it’s not excitement. It’s panic. _No, don’t say it, don’t say that._

“I think you understand what I’m getting at, don’t you? Hey, look at me. _Look_ at me when I’m talking to you.”

Chris look up, slowly, and he can feel the dread written all over his face. Zach smiles at him.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think we should try 24/7. I think that would give me back my balance.”

“I don’t want… _you_ don’t want that. You always said you never wanted that.” Yeah. Definitely panicking.

“No, I never did before, that’s true. But – stripping away layers, right? Transformation?” Zach smiles again. “The thought of it scares me, I’m not saying it doesn’t, but – you told me yourself not to be a coward.”

“Oh, my God.” That’s not fair. That’s _totally_ not fair. “I said that – just – it was in the heat of the moment!”

Zach leans down close, into his face. “You told me not to be a coward while you were cutting me open and making me beg for your cock, Christopher.”

“I didn’t _mean_ it!”

“Well, you should have thought more carefully about what was coming out of your mouth. Because you can’t take it back again once it’s out there. _You_ told me that, too. Maybe you should listen to yourself more often.”

“But –”

“And besides,” Zach sweeps on, standing straight again. “I want to test Jung’s theory.”

Chris stares at him. “ _What_ theory?”

“‘Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.’ I want to have a look into those shadows, Christopher. Try to sort them out. And you can help me do that. We’re so well-suited to each other. I can’t think of anyone else who might be able to help me, not like you can.”

For the first time, Chris contemplates that Zach might actually be serious about this, and not just trying to freak him out.

“You don’t need help. And besides, I thought you were over Jung.”

“Well, I wasn’t in _love_ with him or anything.”

“Zach, this isn’t funny. Really.”

“Am I laughing?”

“Can you untie me, please?” Chris suddenly feels exhausted. He’s tired of the mindfuck. Zach frowns, but helps him up, unbinds his hands. “Can I take this suit off now?” Chris asks, massaging his wrists.

“You can do whatever you want to do. You know that.” Zach sounds cold, and Chris finds that it feeds his resentment.

“And you don’t want me to be able to? Is that it?”

“It’s not _real_. We talked about this. But maybe – I thought you might like the idea. Of it being _more_ real.”

“Please don’t try to make out like this is for my benefit,” Chris snaps. “What would it even _mean_ , anyway? I’d have to ask permission for everything? I’d have to call you Master or something stupid and wear a fucking collar?”

“It would mean whatever we say it means. We could explore the possibilities. And the boundaries. Together.”

“For your _balance_ ,” Chris spits. He’s angry, but overwhelmingly tired, and he feels like Zach is just making a joke of everything. “You have _never_ wanted that. You’re just making fun of me. You’re just fucking with me again.”

“Believe me, I’m not.” Chris wants to believe him, but he’s been too adamantly against this in the past. Zach reaches out to pull at his bow-tie and then unbuttons his shirt. “Take off your suit now. We’ll have it collected for cleaning in the morning.”

He helps to undress Chris in silence, and Chris, to his own surprise, _lets_ him.

“I don’t see how it would possibly work.”

“We have a few days left together. We could try it out. I just want to try. For a few days. And then you’re leaving again, and –” Zach breaks off, and his face is impassive.

They get ready for bed, in silence again, spitting toothpaste into the sink: Chris viciously and Zach thoughtfully. Chris fights the urge to scrub his nails again. They are pink and clean, but when he catches sight of them from the corner of his eyes, he has to blink and look again, make sure they’re not stained.

They go to bed, silent still, but Zach insists on throwing an arm over him. Chris has been expecting him to say, _You know what, you’re right, that was over a line, forget it_ , but he doesn’t. He’s mute but hopeful; Chris can feel it glowing from him like heat.

“Fuck me,” Chris mutters eventually. “Fuck _me_ , Zach. You really want that?”

“I really do.”

“I still don’t even know what it would _mean_.”

“We could figure it out together. In the morning. I don’t like this mattress, by the way. It’s too hard.”

“I don’t know,” Chris sighs. “It’s too soft for me.” He stares into the darkness. Zach’s breath is making a clammy patch on his neck, chilly when he breathes in, warm and comforting when he breathes back out. “Okay.” Zach’s breath stops. “We can try. If you really want. If that’s what you really think you need. For balance.”

Zach hugs him tightly, squeezing his nose between his neck and the pillow. “Thank you, Christopher.”

“I think I’m going to regret this.”

“It’ll be interesting, if nothing else.” Zach’s voice is all muffled, but he sounds ecstatic.

“This bed is _way_ too fucking soft.”

“I’m starting to think it’s just right.”


End file.
